


Drink And Be Merry

by strippedhalo



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-23
Updated: 2007-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strippedhalo/pseuds/strippedhalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, Locke had wanted drinking and dancing, and Jean had managed to find both in one place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink And Be Merry

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to offonmars for handholding and encouragement!
> 
> Written for Kaneko

 

 

Locke wasn't sorry he'd given Jean the antidote, could never be sorry for that, but neither was he particularly ready to die. Still, there was a certain sort of freedom in knowing he was not long for the world. Not always a pleasant freedom, mind, but a freedom nonetheless. It meant that he was more inclined to act on his whims, knowing that anything he put off until later might never get done at all. And Jean, for his part, was more than willing to facilitate the achievement of all of Locke's little desires. When he wasn't overcome with fury or insensible with grief, that is. And those times were getting shorter and farther between, something for which Locke was undeniably grateful. 

Tonight, Locke had wanted drinking and dancing, and Jean had managed to find both in one place.

For the time being they were in Talisham, where public dances had recently come into fashion. Elegant balls had always been an indulgence only the wealthy could afford, but some enterprising souls had discovered that any large space, be it an empty barn or a deserted warehouse, could provide a welcome atmosphere for a party, provided the music was good and the alcohol was plenty. Add in local vineyard owners looking to offload quantities of their less-successful vintages cheaply, and dance halls popped up like weeds. 

A wonderful thing about public dances was that nobody cared who you were, so long as you were careful with your toes and didn't try to cheat the vendors selling food and spirits. Locke and Jean, being light on their feet and having given up thievery - at least temporarily - had no problems fitting in. They also never wanted for partners, though they were both careful not to dance with the same girl more than twice, particularly if it looked like any jealous suitors or husbands were scowling from the sidelines. They could handle trouble if it found them, but for once, they were trying not to actively seek it out. 

The dance Jean had found for them tonight was outside of the city, a short countryside walk from the harbor where they had docked the boat. The musicians played only swift-tempoed, rollicking songs, and the space was crowded with people, dancing and laughing and drinking, always drinking. So, if Locke felt flushed and short of breath, it was only the exertion of keeping up with the steps, and if he stumbled once or twice, it was because he'd had too much brandy. If he thought his heart beat too fast, it was the pretty girls spinning and pressing all around, and if he found his eyes constantly sought out Jean, well, he was only looking to remember his footwork. It had nothing to do with a slow-acting poison in his blood, and certainly nothing to do with Jean being on the other side of the room, dozens and dozens of strangers between them. 

One song started out fast and picked up tempo as it went, as did the dance. Men and women alike spun and wove their ways around the room, switching partners so fast that Locke was hard pressed to keep up. Eventually, he lost track of his steps and turned the wrong way, and the next hand that he clasped belonged to Jean. Jean hooted in amusement at Locke's misstep, but did not hesitate in continuing the dance, leading Locke confidently through an intricate turn.

It was far from the first time they had danced as partners, but it was the first time since they were teenagers, when Chains had insisted that they all become proficient in the third Beautiful Art. Locke, Jean, and the Sanzas were only meant to learn the men's steps, but they had each ended up learning the women's parts as well, since there was only one of Sabetha to go around. No matter the years, it was still nearly second nature to Locke when Jean raised their joined arms and spun Locke out into the crowd, then back again.

A fierce, protective joy rose up in Locke's chest at the sight of Jean's grin, his _true_ grin that had been unseen since the terrible day when Ezri died to save them. Jean was a good man, the best man there was, and Locke hated to leave him alone. Hated to think that after Locke had gone, that smile might never return, because as much as Locke wanted to believe that he needed Jean more than Jean needed him, it wasn't true. They were each of them all the other had in the world, and Locke was terribly, terribly afraid that when he died, Jean would follow after, just as though there had been no antidote at all.

But it wasn't worth dwelling on in this moment. Done was done, and if the time they had was of an uncertain length, well, that had always been true for them. And if Jean's smile went away later, it was here for now, and so Locke smiled in return, and laughed when Jean managed to release him just so that the next switching of partners paired him with a woman again, and he didn't need to think about the steps at all.

When the song ended, Locke turned until he caught Jean's eye, then inclined his head toward the exit, brows raised in inquiry. Jean nodded and they made their way out together, fighting through the crush of people, more now than there had been when they first arrived. 

They tumbled into the night, breathless with laughter, Jean's large hand steady against Locke's shoulder. He didn't let go as they stepped onto the road leading back to the boat, and if his hand slid so that his arm was around Locke's shoulders as they walked, it was only that Jean, too, had indulged in too much brandy. And if Locke's arm wound its way around Jean's waist in return, well, it was only that he didn't want him to fall.

 


End file.
